


As The Night Burns

by ScienceFantasy93



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - World War II, Angst and Feels, Bletchley Park, F/M, Homophobia, It's wartime, London, More notes to be added, Nazis are Nazis, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, RAF (Royal Airforce), Racism, Sex, Sexism, The Blitz, They seemed to have missed the memo about bomb shelters and bunkers, They're all angsty AF, They're really not being responsible here, Wartime, Wartime Romance, World War II, of course they are
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:01:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25834675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScienceFantasy93/pseuds/ScienceFantasy93
Summary: Jason often feels like he’s older than he is. He supposes it’s a normal sensation right now, when the world drips blood and the sky burns black. When monsters – literal human monsters – are coming for everyone who represent something other than themselves.London, 1940. In the midst of The Blitz, Jason and Percy are forced to confront the one thing that scares them more than a Nazi takeover - their feelings for Piper and Annabeth.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson, Jason Grace/Piper McLean
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was only supposed to be a oneshot. I planned to only do Jason's and Percy's scenes in this chapter, and then be done with it. I wanted to test the waters for World War II, and a oneshot seemed like the way to go. Instead I ended up with a 30k fic and the plans for a sequel. 
> 
> This is World War II, Britain. This is not politically correct. I tried to keep things as 2020-aware as possible, but there are points where that just wasn't possible. There will be stuff in here that you'll be appalled by. I hope you are, because that is the point. There were some awful attitudes back then, just like there are today, but those attitudes were more accepted and normalized back then.
> 
> I've done a lot of research on WWII. That being said, I've also taken creative liberties with some stuff, and I know there are other points and details I've missed during my research. Also, I'm American. I think like an American 😂 I tried to get the dialogue as best I could, but I'm sure plenty of it still sounds 2020 American. Plus, I couldn't stomach the idea of Percy and Jason going around and calling each other "old boy". I just can't. But please forgive me for any mistakes I've made in the details or the dialogue, and feel free to point them out so I can correct them later on 😊
> 
> On that note, enjoy!

_October, 1940, London_  
  
Jason often feels like he’s older than he is. He supposes it’s a normal sensation right now, when the world drips blood and the sky burns black. When monsters – literal _human_ monsters – are coming for everyone who represent something other than themselves. The Jews. The Blacks. The Homosexuals. The Gypsies. Just to name a few, of course. Jason has lost count of the vile decrees against humanity the Nazis, the Third Reich, Germany, has launched out into the world and expected to be followed, to be carried through without a single blink of the eye.  
  
Nights like these he tells himself to count his lucky stars, because if he were nearly anywhere else in the world, he would be watching his friends get rounded up and sent off to God-only-knows-where. Concentration camps. Hell on earth. But maybe it’s worse than even that. He’s heard stories, horrible tales, of what they do to the prisoners in concentration camps. His stomach rolls with each word, and bile burns his tongue with each image.  
  
Living in London isn’t pleasant by any means. The nightly bombings are stressful and exhausting. No one knows what buildings will be reduced to rubble in the blink of an eye. No one knows who will be dead tomorrow. No one knows anything.  
  
But Jason’s passionate about remaining in London. He’s passionate about his work, about working with one of the ministries that’s doing its best to block the war. He’s not allowed to say which one he works for, but he knows he’s doing his part. It’s important, especially right now. He’s not in uniform, he’s not supposed to be a part of the RAF anymore, and so many people seem to look at him with disgusted sneers. Sometimes they even march right up to him to scream in his face about what a disgrace he is. When that happens, he squirms in shame. It’s not his fault he had to be let go from the Royal Air Force. He and Percy, his best friend, were part of one of the best RAF crews six months ago. But then they were shot down over Germany by the goddamn Luftwaffe and they were forced to bail out. The fact that they weren’t captured as POWs is truly amazing. But while escaping from some trigger-happy Nazis – are there really any other types? – he was shot in the knee and in a tendon in his thigh. Six months later he’s still walking with a limp, though through exercise and rehabilitation it’s much better than it was. Percy managed to get Jason to safety without getting shot himself, but their harrowing escape still plays through both their heads on a constant rotation.  
  
Percy has been working with Jason at the ministry, but they both know he’ll be strapping himself into an RAF Spitfire soon enough. There are whispers that Jason might be allowed to join Percy, but Jason sure as hell isn’t holding his breath. Nothing has worked out the way he’s hoped it would in the last six months. He doesn’t know why passing muster for the RAF would be any different. In any case, sometimes Jason wonders if he’d even be able to force himself back into that Spitfire, when last time he sat in one he had to bail out. The memories are sharp and bright and vivid from that night, playing through his mind over and over and over. He can’t escape them, no matter how desperately he wants to. And some nights remembering is the only thing that seems to keep him together, that reminds him that no matter what happens, he’s doing something important.  
  
But tonight is not the time for remembering. Tonight is the time for celebrating the fact that they’re still alive. They’re 22-years-old and six months ago they escaped from an impossible situation. Now they’re here, tonight, in the Mayfair flat they’re renting from Jason’s father, with champagne and wine that they were able to buy from a rather dodgy acquaintance of Mr. Grace. Piper and Annabeth are with them, and Jason is hoping that tonight, maybe, finally, he’ll be brave enough to admit to Piper how he feels. He knows Percy is bottling up his courage like champagne to finally let Annabeth know that he’s in love with her, that he has been for years.  
  
It’s insane, Jason reflects, that they flew what were basically suicide missions for the RAF, that they lost most of their crew to Luftwaffe aircraft and Nazis, that they escaped fucking Germany and just managed to make it through neutral territory with human monsters hot on their heels, but they’re both terrified of telling the girls how they feel.  
  
How did they both end up in this situation? They’re complete opposites, and yet –  
  
No. That’s not entirely true. This is not the same situation. Similar, yes. But not the same.  
  
Jason can’t remember a time when Percy wasn’t in love with Annabeth. And as the years have gone by, he’s watched Annabeth’s eyes slowly open to the possibility of something, anything, with Percy. But he also knows that Percy really had no idea, not until that night they were huddled on the German riverbank, covered in mud and leaves and doing their best to look like foliage. The sharp, burning pain in Jason’s leg seemed to numb nearly every sensation, but he felt cold, so damn cold, until his blood turned to ice in his veins, freezing his heart, his lungs, his throat. Percy had pressed his own bomber jacket into Jason’s wounds, deep green eyes burning with a desperate intensity as he struggled to keep his best friend from bleeding out on the banks of the fucking Rhine. The barks of the Nazi’s dogs had slowly faded, and Percy had begun to speak, soft and gently, urging Jason to focus on his voice, to stay awake. They knew the bullet wounds would get infected, and that was if Jason didn’t die from blood loss. They were stuck, imprisoned by misfortune and fate, hands tied behind their backs.  
  
But Percy talked, urging Jason to crawl through the mud and water. Late into the night – which night, Jason still doesn’t know, everything seemed to run together through that week or weeks or maybe it was months, he really doesn’t know – Percy began babbling, doing his best to stay together but the cracks in his façade were beginning to show. And he admitted in a whoosh of breath that he was in love with Annabeth, that he thought of nothing else but returning to London, to her.  
  
Jason laughed at the admission, because he knew, of course he did, it was so damn obvious. And he made Percy promise to let Annabeth know how he felt. But the problem was, that promise went two ways. Because Percy knew Jason and Piper had been dancing around each other for months before Jason enlisted with the RAF. And now, in present day, Jason has to confess his feelings to Piper.  
  
Easier said than done, that is for damn sure.  
  
The party is low-key, not much of one to be honest. It consists of four people, but that’s all Jason really needs anymore. He clutches his glass of champagne and glances around the flat. He and Percy managed to scrounge up some decent food for dinner, so no one is drinking on an empty stomach. He wonders if it would make his life easier if he hadn’t eaten, if he could get drunk faster. He needs to get drunk if he’s going to tell Piper how he really feels. But at the same time he knows a drunken confession of love isn’t going to sit well with Piper. And besides that, it’s not something she deserves.  
  
Jason knows Percy is out on the roof with Annabeth, staring out over the rooftops of London. He can picture the silhouette of St. Paul’s Cathedral emblazoned against the night sky. He can almost imagine Percy focusing on it, staring at it as he clumsily mumbles out the words “I love you” to Annabeth. That’s Jason’s plan, anyway, if Percy and Annabeth ever come inside.  
  
Before he can think anymore about Percy’s confession and how they can’t afford to be babies right now, a soft hand brushes over his forearm and he nearly jumps out of his skin.  
  
“Sorry,” Piper says softly, her American accent flattening out the two syllables just for a moment. Her mother is half French, half British, but her father is Native American, and she spent the first part of her life in California. She didn’t move to England until she was 16, when her mother decided a British boarding school education would install some much needed discipline in her life. Piper ended up at the same school as Annabeth, and Annabeth introduced Piper to Jason and Percy. And the four have been inseparable ever since. Tonight may change that. Jason needs to brace himself for the changes that tonight will bring.  
  
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Piper continues on. She’s picked up a trace of a British accent in the six years that she’s lived in England, but it hasn’t quite taken hold. Jason doesn’t mind. He likes it. It reminds him of her roots, of how different she is from most of the girls he’s known.  
  
“It’s all right,” he assures her, and he hears the contrast of his British accent to her American one. He hopes she likes it, but he’s sure she’s quite used to it by now so it no longer has any affect – if it ever did.  
  
“You looked like you were deep in thought,” she comments. She takes a sip of her champagne, before blinking up at him. She looks pretty in a pale pink dress, her dark hair falling in soft curls just past her shoulders. Her hair is a bit long for what is considered fashionable, but Piper has worn it that way for as long as Jason has known her. He can’t see why a war would ever change that.  
  
“I’ve just got a thing or two on my mind.”  
  
“Really?” She smiles up at him, and it’s a flirty smile, half-crooked, half-inviting. “Maybe you should tell me what that thing or two is.”  
  
Before Jason can open his mouth, a piercing whistle splits the air. Warnings. Alarms. The air-raid sirens.  
  
“They’re coming!” he hears Percy shout through the flat’s window from the roof. “The Jerries are coming!”  
  
Here comes their nightly bombing. Jason wants to holler at Percy and Annabeth to get off the damn roof, but he knows they won’t. Percy will want to see the bombing, and Annabeth will stay with him. Technically they’re supposed to all be hiding out in bomb shelters, but he and Percy have firewatching duty a few nights a week, and they like to keep an eye on their city on the other nights. And Annabeth and Piper will always do whatever the fuck they want, even if it means putting themselves in harms’ way. Jason kind of hates it and he kind of admires it at the same time.  
  
“Fucking Jerries,” Piper swears, marching indignantly towards the kitchen window as if the force of her rage will stop the Germans from attacking. She leans out the window, screaming a laundry list of obscenities into the air. Jason highly doubts the German pilots can hear her, but he knows this makes her feel better. No one wants to feel helpless during a bombing raid, but that’s exactly what happens night after night.  
  
And so, when she climbs through the window out onto the roof, he follows her.  
  
Percy and Annabeth are standing on the roof, clutching their glasses of champagne. Jason hopes they’re savoring it, because with the Nazi invasion of France, this is probably the last they’ll have for a while of the sparkling, bubbly alcohol.  
  
“Come on, you fucking Nazi bastards!” Percy is shouting at the dark rumbling of the Luftwaffe aeroplane. “Show us what you got, you can’t beat us!” He takes a huge swig of his champagne and swishes it around his mouth.  
  
Annabeth shakes her fist at the Luftwaffe as if imagining punching it out of the sky. “Do your goddamn worst!” she screams. “We’re goddamn British, you arrogant pieces of shit! Do you know what that means? _Do you_?!” She sounds slightly hysterical, and Jason wonders how much she’s had to drink.  
  
Piper laughs and loops her arm through Annabeth’s. “What was it that Churchill said? ‘We shall fight them on the beaches, we shall fight them on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills.’ They won’t ever take us, not ever.”  
  
“And that’s coming from an American,” Annabeth laughs, but she hugs Piper one-armed before letting go.  
  
And then the first bomb falls.  
  
The entire city seems to shake, and for a split second Jason thinks they’re going to be thrown off the roof. And then everything levels itself and he realizes he’s still standing. A roar of fire bursts to life, illuminating blocks and blocks of London despite the blackout. Jason can’t tell which building it is that got hit, but it’s not terribly far from them.  
  
And then the second bomb hits, decimating anything that was left of the building and taking another one out with it.  
  
The others’ defiant screams fall away as the sight of burning rubble sobers them. The reality of war is sharp and poignant. They’ve all experienced it, all four of them, but it’s still shocking to see a building flattened. _Here today, gone tomorrow_.  
  
Another bomb drops, and then another. Thankfully the bombs seem to be moving farther away from them, but Jason feels guilty about being relieved about this. People will die tonight. Whole families might be wiped out. And he and his friends are standing atop a damn roof drinking champagne and calling challenges to the Luftwaffe pilot.  
  
But what else are they supposed to do? There is nothing else. They can either put on a show of bravery and face the enemy the best they can, or they can rock back and forth in a corner while whimpering to themselves. Jason would rather stand tall and shout obscenities at the Nazis if push comes to shove. And he knows the others feel the same.  
  
Unbidden, Piper’s hand finds his, and his fingers intertwine with hers. They don’t look each other, but she scoots just a smidgen closer. Her head brushes his shoulder, and he knows without a doubt that things are changing between them. Maybe he doesn’t even have to say anything. Maybe there’s nothing left for him to say.  
  
Wouldn’t that be ideal?  
  
At last the all-clear is sounded. Half the city seems to be in flames, but London is still standing, brave and proud and tall. They will clean up the ruins and tomorrow a new day will dawn. That’s all they can ask for right now. And right now it’s enough for Jason. Because there’s hope. He needs hope.  
  
Annabeth turns around. “Right, I’m going in now,” she announces, and Percy helps her stumble her way back through the window. Percy grimaces at Jason, letting him know that the planned confession hasn’t happened, and Jason’s chest constricts tightly. If there’s anyone who should be confessing their feelings tonight it’s Percy. He’ll be getting sent out on an RAF mission again in a matter of weeks. He needs to tell Annabeth…  
  
“Those Jerry bastards,” Piper declares. “I wish there was more I could do to help the war effort.”  
  
“You want to do your bit, you mean?” Jason asks. He’s not amused by this. He knows Piper works for a ministry. Sometimes he suspects it’s the same one he’s considered working for, which makes him even more unhappy. The one he might go to work for tried to recruit him because he was able to escape from Germany without ending up in a POW camp. He’s got RAF training. He got good marks in school and at university. He’s smart and clever and brave. And MI5 needs a few good men. But what about Piper? If she works for them, isn’t she in some modicum of danger? Sure, it’s MI6 that sends its people out to do the truly dirty, dangerous work. But spying, especially right now, is still risky business. And the idea that Piper is one of those spies does not sit well with him at all.  
  
“I’m already doing my bit,” she assures him. “But I always feel like I can do more, like I _should_ be doing more.”  
  
Jason bites his lip. “What would you do?” he asks her. “If you could do more?”  
  
“I don’t know. I wouldn’t mind training as an RAF pilot. But that’s not going to happen,” she adds, voice tinged with bitterness. She’s a _woman_. Women don’t get to train as fighter pilots, no matter how smart or brave they are. Jason firmly believes that women can do pretty much anything that men can do, but that doesn’t mean he wants Piper taking the same risks that he has. But he also knows it’s her call. He can’t stop her. She would never let him.  
  
Jason’s not sure what to say to her admission. He feels like anything he says would be wrong, and he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want her angry with him.  
  
“Well,” Piper continues on, “it’s not like it matters. At least I’m doing something, no matter how invisible it seems. And I know how dangerous being an RAF pilot is,” she adds pointedly, raising her eyebrows at Jason. “How’s your leg?”  
  
“Nearly perfect,” he admits. Some nights he honestly does entertain the fantasy that he might get to fly again. He wants to, so damn much. He’d prefer it to working for MI5, truth be told. If he goes to work for MI5, all he’d be doing is checking up on possible rumors of pro-Nazi sympathizers here in London, of Fifth Columnists, of alleged groups of British citizens who believe that surrendering to Germany will somehow save their country. The work sounds straining, irritating and unpredictable. If what the newspapers report are true, the rumors are nearly always unreliable, and only a couple of Fifth Columnists have been outed so far, that he knows of. It doesn’t seem like a job where he’d make much of a difference, but he supposes that at least he’d get a bit of excitement once in a blue moon. It’d probably be better than just another desk job. He doesn’t want to just be a pencil pusher. He wants to be where the action is. Of course, to do that, he’d have to go to work for MI6. But he’s not sure they’d want him. He’s not sure he’s savvy enough for that particular work.  
  
“I see.” She purses her lips together. “Do you think you might get to fly again?”  
  
“No, I don’t think so,” he tells her. He doesn’t want to say that Percy recently spoke with their commander, who asked after Jason. When Percy told Commander Davis about Jason’s progress, the commander insinuated that perhaps in due time Jason might be back in a Spitfire. Percy was hopeful after that conversation, but Jason is obviously still skeptical through and through. He’s sure no one is going to want a pilot who was shot twice in the leg. But the fantasy is still there. He feels frustrated on the ground, almost awkward and flat-footed. He wants to be up in the air with Percy, locked in aerial combat with those damn Luftwaffes. _That’s_ what he wants. Not spying. Not desk work. Nothing that involves being on the ground.  
  
Piper turns away, crossing her arms over her chest. “You want to though.”  
  
“I do.”  
  
“Even though you were shot down and nearly died.”  
  
“Call me crazy, but I miss it. Not the getting-shot-down part, but the flying. Feeling…useful.”  
  
“You’re useful here.” She spins back around, locking her gaze with his. “You’re working for a ministry. You’re doing your part.”  
  
“You’re just as frustrated as I am,” he points out.  
  
“But I didn’t get shot in the goddamn leg!” she nearly screams, teeth gritted in anger. “You – what the fuck am I supposed to do if you _are_ able to fly again and then you don’t come back?”  
  
It takes Jason a moment to process her words. _What the fuck am I supposed to do if you don’t come back_? The words echo through his head like shouts in a cave.  
  
Without thinking, without considering his next move, he grabs her hips and yanks her against him. She stumbles slightly, bracing her hands against his chest as she looks up at him. There is a split second where their gazes hold, her eyes fiery as she glares up at him. And then his lips crash down upon hers, and she’s kissing him back. And the kiss is filled with bubbling hot anger, of unbidden rage, of hurt and heartbreak. But it also burns with desire, of love and lust and need. Of everything Jason has wanted with Piper for months and months.  
  
The kiss finally breaks, and they stare at each other. And then Piper says, “Great. You’ve just made it even harder if you don’t come back.”  
  
“What if I don’t fly out? What if I’m never able to go back into the RAF?” he replies, voice rough in his throat.  
  
“Then that’ll be the best thing that’s happened in this whole damn war. I’m not losing you, Jason,” she says quietly. “I thought I’d lost you once. I’m not going through that again.”  
  
It's not exactly a declaration of love, but it’s close to it. And Jason doesn’t need anything more than that.  
  
“I’ll try to make sure you don’t lose me,” he tells her after a moment.  
  
“Don’t try. Do.” And with that, she crawls through the window into the flat.

* * *

_That same night…_  
  
Percy has seen Annabeth drunk multiple times. The last time, however, was the night before he and Jason were sent out on their last mission. He never did get an explanation as to why she drank so much, but he’s also pretty sure he doesn’t need one. He gets it. He understands. If she was being sent out to drop bombs over Germany, he’d probably drink himself into a coma.  
  
“Come on, careful now,” he says soothingly as he gently guides her through the dark flat towards his bedroom. “We’re almost there.”  
  
“Fucking Jerries,” Annabeth mumbles to herself, and Percy has to fight back a laugh. Even drunk she manages to be unflinchingly Patriotic. But that’s to be expected. Her family is British blue blood, with the fancy Lord and Lady titles that come with sprawling estates and garden parties with Churchill. She’s been taught to never surrender in the face of adversary, and Percy rather admires her for that.  
  
They met six years ago, when Percy and some mates, including Jason, were doing their best to get served in a pub close to her family’s estate. The pubkeeper was having none of their business. And then the door opened and in walked Annabeth and a couple of friends who were staying with her on holiday. The girls tried the exact same tricks Percy, Jason, and the others were using. They had no luck either, but they’d laughed uproariously together when the pubkeeper threw them out, even as he hurtled threats of telling Annabeth’s father. One of those friends was Piper McLean. The other friendships crumbled into dust, but the four of them remained steadfast and rock solid.  
  
But that might change any second now.  
  
“I hate them, you know,” she tells Percy. “I hate those fucking Jerries.”  
  
“I hate them too,” he assures her.  
  
“No, you don’t understand. I mean, I really, _really_ hate them. They shot you down. Where do they get off, shooting you down?”  
  
“I think they were trying to keep me from shooting them first,” he points out, but there is no reasoning with Annabeth right now. She collapses back on his bed and stretches out.  
  
“I don’t care,” she declares. “In fact, I don’t give a damn. They’re evil. Evil, evil bastards. That’s all there is to it.” She kicks her heels off, and rolls over onto her front. “They don’t know what it’s like. They’ll never know.”  
  
“Know what what’s like?”  
  
“Piper knows. She gets it. Do you? Does Jason? No, of course you two don’t,” she mumbles. “You wouldn’t. You didn’t read the newspaper story about the Spitfire crew that’s missing in action. You didn’t read it. That’s not how you found out about any of it.”  
  
His stomach sinks. This isn’t something they’ve ever talked about. He never once thought to ask her how she found out about the Spitfire being shot down. He had no idea up until now that she had to read about it in a _newspaper_. No wonder she’s so angry.  
  
“To be fair,” he says carefully, “Jason and I were a little too busy living through it to read about it in _The London Times_.”  
  
Annabeth kicks at him, and nearly makes contact. “Don’t you sass me!” she hollers. All her careful, genteel upbringing is gone now. “Don’t you go around trying to tell me how it was. I know how it was! I know you and Jason almost fucking died in the fucking Rhine! I cried every single night you two were missing! Ever goddamn night.” She closes her eyes, just for a second, and Percy knows she’s relieving those awful nights. “And then you two made it back safely, and I felt like I could breathe again. But you’re going to be back up in a Spitfire before long, and with the way Jason has recovered, he probably will be too. And you two don’t give a damn how Piper and I feel. We’re stuck on the ground and can’t do a damn thing. We can’t help you. We can’t fight the war with you. We’re chained to desks, and we don’t ever get to see the difference we make. We’re not even sure if we’ve made one. And we’ll have to watch you two climb into a Spitfire and wonder if we’ll ever see you again.”  
  
Percy is stunned. How the fuck is he supposed to react to that? What’s he supposed to say? He loves her, but someone needs to fight this war in the air, and it might as well be him.  
  
“I’ll be careful,” is all he can think of to say.  
  
She grunts and rolls over, facing away from him. But at least she’s making room for him in his bed.  
  
And so he wordlessly kicks his shoes off, unbuttons his shirt, and tosses it off to the side before laying down on the bed next to her.  
  
“I hate you a little bit,” she whispers to him. “I hate you for the hell you put me through.”  
  
“I know you do,” he says quietly.  
  
“I don’t want you to leave me.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“But you feel like you have to.”  
  
“I do.”  
  
She rolls over and props herself up on her elbow to look at him. “Make love to me,” she whispers. He’s so shocked he almost rolls off the bed.  
  
“W-what?”  
  
“Make love to me.” This time it’s louder, more forceful. Nearly a demand. But her gray eyes are wide and her bottom lip is quavering.  
  
Percy is immediately torn. On the one hand – fuck yes. But on the other, she’s drunk. He’s not entirely sure she knows what she’s saying. And even if she does, how much is she going to remember in the morning? He can’t do that to her. He _won’t_ do that to her. He wouldn’t do that to any girl, and he sure as hell won’t do it to Annabeth. His decision is made before he’s even had time to ponder it.  
  
“I can’t.” His voice shakes. “I want to, don’t get me wrong,” he adds quickly as she jerks back, a look of sharp rejection crossing her face. “I’ve wanted to for ages. But you’re drunk. I don’t want it to be like this. Besides…Jason and Piper are in the next room. I don’t want them to hear.” It’s kind of a stupid excuse, but it does make sense, at least to some degree.  
  
Annabeth considers this. “But you will, right? Before you leave?”  
  
His heart pounds in his chest, and he can feel all the blood rushing south. Fuck.  
  
“Yeah,” he says after a moment. “I will. I definitely will.”  
  
“Good.” And with that she snuggles up to him and closes her eyes.  
  
He inhales in, out, in, out. Finally his body begins to calm down, and he closes his eyes as well. Tomorrow is another day after all, and he wants to be well-rested for it.

* * *

Percy is awoken the next morning by shifting beside him. He opens his eyes and sees Annabeth trying to crawl off the bed without waking him, which makes her plan rather pointless.  
  
He sits up and crosses his arms. “Where are you going?”  
  
Annabeth flinches in surprise. “Loo,” she mumbles. Her blonde curls are falling into her face, and her dress is rumpled from sleeping in it.  
  
“Sure.” He leans back against the pillows, watching her. She pushes her hair out of her face. Dark circles ring her eyes, and she winces as she drops from the bed. She’s clearly hungover, which is no surprise after how much champagne Percy suspects she drank last night. As she gingerly makes her way to the bathroom, he gets to his feet and meanders out to the kitchen where he sets the kettle to boiling. He leans against the counter, rubbing a hand over his face.  
  
He wonders if she remembers anything from the night before. He’s hoping she does – he’s hoping she remembers everything. And he hopes she doesn’t try to block it out. It feels like everything has happened between them, yet nothing at all. And he needs to change that, needs to make sure she understands just how much he loves her.  
  
The kettle whistles, and he snatches it off the stove. He pours the hot water into a mug and carefully measures out the loose-leaf tea, adding it and a small shot of whiskey to the water to help with the hangover. He carries it back to his bedroom, where she’s propped up on his bed, legs drawn up to her chest. She looks so very young in that moment, and so very vulnerable.  
  
He sits down on the bed and passes her the cup of tea. She takes a sip with a word of thanks and sighs. “I’m sorry about last night.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“I made such an idiot of myself,” she whispers. “What I asked of you – “  
  
“Yeah, that was way too much to ask of me,” Percy snorts. “Because no man ever wants to be asked to make love to a beautiful woman.”  
  
“I’m serious. I was up and down and all over the place. I’m sorry.”  
  
“I meant it when I said I wanted to do it,” he tells her softly. “But you were drunk. I couldn’t – wouldn’t – take advantage of you like that. But I did make you a promise.”  
  
She smiles just a smidgen, before taking another sip of tea. “Yeah, you did.”  
  
“And I intend to follow through with it.”  
  
“Do you know how much time you have left on leave?”  
  
“No. A couple weeks, maybe a month.”  
  
She traces her finger over the pattern of his down comforter. “That’s really not much time,” she points out.  
  
He grimaces. “I know.”  
  
“Jason _is_ going to be sent out, isn’t he? You know he is.”  
  
“I’d say there’s a ninety percent chance he is, even if he doesn’t believe it himself.”  
  
Annabeth swallows the last of her tea. “That’s bad news for Piper.”  
  
“He’s my navigator and a trained pilot. I need him.”  
  
“I think she needs him too.”  
  
Percy sighs. He hates this bloody war. He hates everything about it. He wishes he could just burrow under his blankets and hide until the war is over. But he can’t do that. He knew going into the RAF that he would be risking his life. He knew if anything happened to him his friends and family would be left heartbroken. But somehow, hearing it all from Annabeth has just made this feel all the more real. He doesn’t want to leave her. And desperation claws at him, threatening to push him over the edge. All of a sudden he wants to cry, because he’s finally getting what he wants but he and Annabeth are paying such a heavy price for it.  
  
It’s not fair.  
  
Nothing’s fair.  
  
“It’s not up to me,” Percy says at last. “It’s up to the powers that be.”  
  
“I know.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re both a couple of war heroes already. The country needs you. It’s just…it’s hard.” She sets the tea mug on his nightstand and turns to him. “The idea of losing you again…it feels like it’s killing me slowly.”  
  
“I’m sorry.” It’s the only thing he can think of to say.  
  
She shakes her head. “I shouldn’t complain. You’re doing your duty. I’m just being selfish.”  
  
“You’re not, you’re – being human.” He closes the distance between them, pressing his lips to hers. She kisses him back slowly, her hand drifting up to cup his cheek. He leans into her touch with a sigh that he knows she can feel against his lips. She leans back, deeper into the pillows, taking him with her. His body is pressing against hers, and her hands brush over his chest and slide down his torso. He shudders as she traces the waist of his trousers, letting her fingers dip underneath the material just a pinch. Her nails lightly scratch over the sensitive skin just below his navel, and he knows he can’t just sit back and let her tease him. He clumsily fumbles the top buttons of her dress open, revealing her slip and a hint of her bra. He attaches his lips to her neck, inhaling the sweet, clean scent of her skin, reveling in the fact that he can do _this_ right here, right now.  
  
Her bare legs hook around his waist, drawing him closer, and he realizes that at some point during the night she shunned her stockings. He groans as she hikes her dress up, and he can feel her hips rocking against his. He feels as if he might lose his goddamn mind and honestly, he’s quite okay with that he decides. If getting off with Annabeth is how he goes crazy, then bring on the insanity. No, seriously, please do.  
  
He feels her fingers at the front of his trousers, undoing the buttons, and his heart rate picks up. This is happening. This is really happening. He’s about to make love to Annabeth –  
  
A door opens and slams, and Percy hears Jason and Piper talking on their way down the hall. He feels Annabeth freeze, and he knows they can’t go on like this in this moment. It’d be rude to Jason and Piper, and he really doesn’t want to have to be quiet. He wants to savor every moment, and he knows he can’t do it while Jason and Piper are clanging around the damn kitchen, shouting over boiling water and sizzling pans.  
  
For fuck’s sake. Talk about a mood killer.  
  
He reluctantly pulls back from Annabeth, who gives him an understanding, if somewhat regretful smile.  
  
“That’s some timing,” she comments, nodding towards the door. “Earliest Piper’s been up in months, I swear.”  
  
Percy laughs despite the situation. “If we’re going to do this, it should be when we’re all alone anyway. I want to be able to take my time.” He lets his gaze slide luxuriously over Annabeth, and she bites her lip.  
  
“Pity anyway,” she says after a moment. “What rotten timing.” She studiously buttons her dress back up, as Percy does up his trousers. He watches as she hikes up her stockings and slides her feet into her high heels. He reaches for his shirt and shrugs into it.  
  
By the time they’re somewhat presentable, he can smell something that resembles food.  
  
 _Resembling_ is the key word. Sawdust sausages and powdered eggs aren’t exactly delicious. But he can smell frying vegetables, and knows Jason’s at work in their kitchen. There might be hope for the food after all.  
  
They join Jason and Piper in the kitchen. More tea is made, and he helps Jason whip the powdered eggs into something remotely edible while Annabeth works on cooking the sausages. Piper is a vegetarian, and refuses to touch the sausages, something Percy can hardly blame her for. He suspects she’s struggling to find decent protein, but then again they all are. She just has less to choose from.  
  
They chat lightly over breakfast. Percy notices how Piper leans into Jason, and catches the occasional touch between the two. It’s adorable, and Jason looks happy. Whether or not they’re actually together, however, Percy can’t say for sure. He hopes they are but suspects they’re hovering in the same limbo as him and Annabeth. And they might stay in limbo for awhile. The girls have to catch the train back to their job this afternoon. Like anyone else, all the girls can say is that they work for a government ministry somewhere north of London. Percy suspects it’s not too far away, as they’re able to easily travel down to London on their days off, but that still doesn’t tell him what they’re doing. He knows Jason thinks it’s something to do with spying, and it wouldn’t surprise him. Both girls are tough and smart, and they’ve got ferocious appetites to prove their worth to the war effort. But while Jason thinks it’s something to do with MI5 and the SIS, Percy is pretty sure it’s something else entirely.  
  
He certainly hopes it is.  
  
But in any case, he knows he won’t get to see Annabeth for a few days. She and Piper were able to wrangle a few days of leave, but it’s Friday, and her next day off isn’t until Monday. He supposes he shouldn’t complain. It’s only two days, after all. Saturday and Sunday. Barely anything. But as he drapes his arm around the back of her chair and his fingers brush her soft curls, he realizes he misses her already.

* * *

_The next morning…_  
  
The train ride from Euston Station to Bletchley Park is only about an hour. If the girls really wanted to, they could easily live in London and commute to Bletchley Park every day. Annabeth and Piper toyed with the idea upon being recruited for the job, but the officials at Bletchley prefer the _residents_ to live in nearby boarding houses. It’s just easier all around, and there’s less chance of the secrets of Bletchley Park getting out. After all, it’s not just any job.  
  
It’s codebreaking.  
  
Not everyone is unscrambling Nazi codes, of course. Most of the women aren’t. Annabeth and Piper started out in a hut that focused on basic secretarial work, such as filing. But they quickly proved their worth. Six months after getting hired on, their home base is Hut 3, one of the chief codebreaking huts. And they’re two of the only women.  
  
The girls sit on the crowded train, watching the scenery roll past the window. They’re both deep in thought, and Annabeth is sure they’re thinking of very similar things. Percy and Jason.  
  
She looks over at Piper. “What happened with Jason last night?”  
  
Piper blushes, but she seems to be fighting back a smile. “We didn’t have sex if that’s what you mean.”  
  
“But did anything else happen?”  
  
“We kissed.” She pauses. “A lot.”  
  
Annabeth smirks. “Why didn’t anything else happen?” She’s glad they’ve got the compartment all to themselves for the time being. This isn’t a conversation she wants anyone overhearing.  
  
“We want to wait a bit,” Piper says with a shrug. “And it just didn’t seem right with you and Percy sleeping in the next room. Speaking of which, what happened with that?”  
  
“We didn’t have sex,” Annabeth assures her. “But yeah, we kissed.”  
  
Piper leans forward, intrigued. “Are you going to take him to bed before he’s sent out on another mission?”  
  
“Oh, I intend to.” She doesn’t tell Piper that Jason will probably be accompanying Percy on that mission. She knows Piper is aware that the chances are all too great that Jason will be flying again, and she doesn’t want to bring up such an unpleasant topic if she doesn’t have to.  
  
“Excellent,” Piper says in satisfaction. “I know how long you’ve wanted him.”  
  
Annabeth rolls her eyes and looks intently out the window. There’s no arguing with that, of course. She’s wanted Percy since the moment she laid eyes on him in The Sheep’s Head pub. And she suspects he’s wanted her for that long as well. It doesn’t make anything easier. Instead, it reinforces the fact that life is short, and they’ve wasted so much time dancing around each other.  
  
It’s a sobering thought.  
  
It's made all the more worse by the realization that they’re so close to what they want – each other. But Percy isn’t going to give up the RAF, and she can’t ask him to. She would be the worst kind of monster if she asked him to ground himself. After all, he’s not asking her to give up her work. Granted, he doesn’t know what it is, and it’s not particularly dangerous, but still. He knows it takes her out of London, away from him. He knows she works long hours and odd rotations. This is a war, and that means making sacrifices for the survival of the world.  
  
That doesn’t stop Annabeth from wishing they’d been less stupid and more proactive about their feelings for each other. But there’s nothing she can do about it now, and besides, she wouldn’t trade this morning for anything. Well, okay, maybe a luxurious bed on some tropical island where no one – her family, his family, Piper, Jason, the RAF, her division lead, the British government, the Nazis – can get to them. But that’s not likely to happen, so she should just lean back and enjoy the ride.  
  
The sun is beginning to sink deep into the horizon when the train pulls into the Bletchley train station. It’s a bit of a walk to their boarding house, which is an easy bicycle ride from Bletchley Park. The girls chat lightly as they walk, nothing too deep. They don’t mention the war. The subject of the boys feels out-of-bounds. And their families definitely don’t crop up into the conversation.  
  
Instead, Piper brings up the subject that’s on most everyone’s minds: Food.  
  
“It was so nice to spend a few days in London,” she comments. “Even with all the rationing going on, I always feel like the food in London is somehow more edible than what we get out here.”  
  
Annabeth grimaces. Considering a good day is one where they have powdered eggs for breakfast and fried spam for dinner, she’s got to agree with Piper. Somehow the boys manage to make both powdered eggs and tin spam taste almost like real food. Times like these she longs for the days before the war, when huge traditional breakfasts were considered the norm. She’d love to have real eggs, maybe fried in bacon fat. Or kippers on toast. Her very own kipper or two, just like when she was growing up at Mount Olympus, her family’s estate. Her family may not have been the most nurturing, but damn if she didn’t eat well back in those days. Even at the girls’ boarding school she and Piper attended the food was delicious and plentiful.  
  
It’s amazing how much she misses when it comes to food. Of course, there is plenty that the war has taken away from her, but somehow the food is the one thing she mopes over the most. She supposes it’s because it’s a constant. They have three meals a day, plus tea in the afternoon. Things such as going to the cinema or taking a drive in the countryside were normal activities, but they weren’t an everyday thing. It wasn’t something she could count on like clockwork.  
  
“And Mrs. Dennison…I expect her cooking would be quite good with quality ingredients, but right now trying to swallow it feels like a crime against humanity,” Piper continues on. “I know I shouldn’t whine, everyone is making massive sacrifices right now, but – “  
  
“No, I get it,” Annabeth interjects. “I understand. Everything is utter shit right now, and there isn’t a damn thing we can do about it except keep our chin up and carry onwards.”  
  
“Exactly.” Piper nods. “We were taught to never complain, no matter how hard life is. If the work is difficult, you keep pressing on. If something doesn’t go your way, you suck it down. And I don’t think it’s a bad rule. I just think…sometimes you need to complain. Sometimes it’s nice to speak your inner thoughts aloud, just to hear someone agree with you.”  
  
Annabeth smiles a bit. By most standards, Piper had an unusual upbringing. Her mother is a European socialite who goes through men and husbands the way Hut 3 goes through tins of tea. Her father is an American actor who pretends to be Italian-Scottish-American when in reality he’s Cherokee. But Hollywood frowns upon Native Americans, and so Tristan McLean explains his olive complexion, dark eyes, and high cheekbones away with a fake Italian heritage, with some Scottish ancestry to explain the last name. They do have some Scottish ancestry, but that’s about the only truth in that web of lies. Piper hates it. She’s proud of being Cherokee, and she was open about it at their boarding school. No one cared. She was just another spoiled girl with a socialite mother and a wealthy father. The same is true here at the Park. Who you were before the war doesn’t matter. It’s what you do in your hut that counts. And Annabeth is grateful for that, because her mother is every bit as embarrassing as Piper’s is.  
  
Her mother and father are Lord and Lady Chase. Since her mother’s first name is, of all things, Athena, her father changed the estate name from a formal Weatherly Hills to Mount Olympus. Talk about humiliating. Thankfully it’s still not nearly as awful as what Piper has to deal with, though. Her mother has been nicknamed the Aphrodite of Modern Europe. That’s the name she goes by. Aphrodite. Whenever Piper sees a society rag, she immediately spins on her heel and walks purposefully in the opposite direction. If nothing else, Piper wins the award for the most embarrassing mother in Europe. As awful as Annabeth feels about it, she’s always relieved that at least her parents are somewhat normal, even if they’re so wrapped up in their own lives that they have trouble keeping track of hers. It’s fine, everything’s fine. That’s what she tells herself, anyway.  
  
They reach Mrs. Dennison’s boardinghouse and mount the steps to the porch. The front door opens, and two girls off-duty pass them by, talking about going to the cinema and trying to find something to eat besides vegetable pie and cottage cheese.  
  
Even Piper doesn’t look excited at the prospect of vegetable pie. The vegetables are never fresh, and with butter, flour, and eggs rationed, the crusts are bland and crumbly. But it’s still better than some alternatives, Annabeth tells herself firmly as they pass through the front door and hike it on up the stairs to their shared room.  
  
The bedroom isn’t much, just two twin beds pushed up against opposite walls and separated by a nightstand. A wardrobe stands in the corner of Piper’s side of the room, while a desk is shoved against the wall on Annabeth’s side. It’s not much, but it’s a place to sleep, and that’s really all they need anymore.  
  
They set their suitcases on their respective beds, both contemplating the prospect of vegetable pie for dinner. As Annabeth glances around the small room, she realizes just how far away from London they really are. It may be only an hour train ride, but this countryside boardinghouse and the manor house they work in belong to a whole different world. So very different from the bombed-out city.  
  
In some ways, this place reminds her of her family’s estate in Kent. It’s got the quaint, quiet aesthetic of Mount Olympus and the gorgeous scenery to boot. Annabeth feels a twinge of nostalgia for simpler, safer days. If this morning had happened a couple years ago, she would be walking on air. She still is, to a degree, but not the way she should be. How can she be, when Percy will be getting sent on little more than a suicide mission in just a few weeks?  
  
No. She can’t think about that right now. She goes back to work at midnight tonight, along with Piper. She’s hopeful that this will be their last week of night shifts. Surely the new rotation will be announced soon. Once they get back to day shift or evening shift, they’ll be able to get some decent sleep.  
  
She remembers after the news broke that Percy and Jason had been shot down, that their Spitfire crew was missing in action. She and Piper had been on the night rotation at that point. Neither of them had gotten more than a few hours of sleep in the following weeks.  
  
No. She’s not going to think about this either. She can’t. She mustn’t.  
  
But fuck, she can’t go through those weeks again. She’s strong, so damn strong, but losing Percy and Jason might just break her.  
  
Piper has been unpacking her clothes and carefully putting away the clean garments. She turns to Annabeth now. “Ready to face vegetable pie with cottage cheese?”  
  
Annabeth makes a face. “The things we do to beat the Germans.”  
  
Piper laughs, and Annabeth feels a tiny spark of hope, just for a moment.  
  
It’s just long enough.

* * *

_Very early the next morning…_  
  
Piper officially hates vegetable pie. She hates night shift. And she hates this war. Not necessarily in that order.  
  
She yawns as the clock slowly ticks towards 2 in the morning. Just six more hours to get through and then she can go back to the boardinghouse and try to get some sleep. Beside her, Annabeth is sipping tea as she works on decoding a German message. Piper glances down at the slip of paper in front of her. Italian. She and Annabeth were recruited for a handful of reasons – they’re from good families (well, Annabeth is. Piper’s family spends most of their time in the gossip magazines, but that’s beside the point), they’re well-educated, and they both speak several languages. Annabeth is proficient in German, and can speak passable French, while Piper knows German, Italian, French, and Spanish. It’s a lot, but seeing as how she spent half her childhood traipsing with her mother around Europe, she feels as though it should be expected. And really, she’s just always had a knack for languages.  
  
Lucky for her, because otherwise she wouldn’t have this job right now.  
  
She feels guilty for grumbling to herself about the night rotation, especially after telling Jason last night how she wants to do more for the war effort. She does want to do more, absolutely. But it’s hard to remember that when it’s two in the morning and she’s yawning like crazy. And when the aftertaste of the rather disgusting dinner lingers on her tongue.  
  
Time for another cup of tea.  
  
Five minutes later she’s sitting back down at her desk with her tea and gazing down at the intercepted Italian message. It doesn’t look like much, just a note from an Italian soldier to his lover, but Piper highly doubts it's that innocent. As she studies it, a couple of interestingly phrased sentences jump out at her, and she smiles in triumph. It’s not much, but this does tell her a bit about the Italian infantry’s movements. She quickly jots down her translation and drops it in her out-basket. She picks up the next piece of paper. This one is in German, and Piper needs to take a minute to make the mental switch between the two languages. But once she does, she’s able to decode a plan utilizing the German U-Boats to torpedo a British ship.  
  
Yeah, this _definitely_ ended up in her in-basket by mistake. It’s always very rare when she and Annabeth end up with important German and Italian messages. It’s just perks of being a girl, getting the less-important work. Of course, they’re told that all work at The Park is important. And she supposes it is. But she also knows that she and Annabeth are every bit as smart as some of the men who work here. Annabeth is probably every bit as intelligent as some of the most successful codebreakers, but she’ll never get to prove it.  
  
Piper supposes that just being positioned in Hut 3 at all is a compliment. She’s barely seen any other girls while working in here.  
  
She gets to her feet and approaches the shift leader. He blinks down at her. “What is it, Miss McLean?”  
Piper bristles slightly. His tone is already about as welcoming as a rabid rat, and while she’s heard him call the men who work in here by their first names, she and Annabeth are always addressed in a more formal manner. It’s the teensiest bit aggravating.  
  
“I think I might have found something.” She shows him the piece of paper that got dropped in her in-basket, followed by her translation.  
  
He raises an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “You think this is a plan to torpedo one of our ships?”  
  
“That’s how I translated it, sir.” She’s suddenly all too aware of her American accent. She’s probably the only American-born at Bletchley, and normally it doesn’t bother her. Her mother is half-British, lived in Britain for half her life, and Piper has followed suit. She’s got dual citizenship, it’s true, but she’s most at home in England. Normally she blends in with the crowd. But right now she knows she’s an anomaly, a Native American woman who was born in California. She hates feeling like a freak of nature and, unfortunately, she’s been made to feel like that most of her life. But she won’t let this arrogant fusspot control how she feels about herself. She does good work here and she knows it.  
  
And so she draws herself up to her full height, which admittedly isn’t much, but it makes her feel a little better. “My translations are always spot-on,” she points out. “Both German _and_ Italian translations. Tell me you think I don’t know what I’m doing and ignore this translation. Go on. Do it. And then wait and see if the U-Boats torpedo _The Victoria_. Go ahead. Take that chance.” She folds her arms over her chest and stares him down. She won’t blink until he does.  
  
And he does. He looks away, but not before taking the translation from her. “I’ll have the information checked on,” he mumbles.  
  
She knows what that means. He’s sending it to the big boys, the codebreakers who actually _know_ what they’re doing. But at least he’s doing that. It’s certainly better than just ignoring it.  
  
She nods once, before resuming her spot at her desk. She doesn’t thank him, though she knows he expects her to. In his eyes, she’s not British, she’s American, and Americans are considered to be rude and barbaric, damn it. She may as well prove him right on that. Besides, it’s not like he’s done her any sort of favor. So why should she thank him?  
  
The rest of the night passes by in slow form, but eventually 8am rolls around and the shift trails out of the hut, yawning and rubbing their eyes.  
  
Piper and Annabeth don’t talk much as they bicycle their way back to their boardinghouse. They know breakfast awaits them, but it won’t be anything particularly edible.  
  
Still, when they reach their billet, they trail into the dining room. Powdered eggs and something that Piper supposes must have been porridge in a former life is served to them, and they swallow their food, trying not to taste it, before thanking Mrs. Dennison and hurrying up to their room to try to get some sleep.  
  
Midnight will come all too quickly, and before they know it they’ll be back at their desks, yawning over scraps of paper and foreign codes.  
  
Piper really hates this war.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, new chapter! I wasn't sure when I was going to update this fic. With so much going on in the world right now, a WW2 fic seemed a little insensitive. I don't want to trigger anyone. And please be aware that there is dark stuff in this, and that the stuff that is brought up doesn't even scrape the ice of what actually happened.
> 
> I wrote this story really fast, over a period of a couple weeks. If it feels rushed in places, that's why. Other than that, I hope you guys like it. Please enjoy 😊

The city is on fire.  
  
Again.  
  
The night is burning all around him, and Jason can’t look away. He and Percy are on firewatching duty, along with a couple of their neighbors, and the tensions are as high as the bombs that are dropping on their city.  
  
London seems to be all smoke and ash and rubble and flames – a city ravaged by war and madness. Jason thinks wildly of Pompeii, that city in Italy that was destroyed by an erupting volcano. And then another bomb hits, and he’s shouting before he can even process what has happened.  
  
A hotel just down their street was in one solid piece seconds ago. But now it’s been blown apart, and Jason can already see flames licking at the skeleton walls.  
  
This is why they were recruited in the first place. Time to move.  
  
Their neighbors are phoning the emergency services while Jason and Percy rush from the roof of their flat, down to the street. Tin hats are on their heads and stirrup pumps are in hand. If nothing else perhaps they can control the fire before it gets too out of control. That’s the hope, anyway.  
  
It's Saturday night, but do the Jerries ever take a night off from bombing them? Fuck no. That’d be too easy. They might actually catch up on some sleep. The Nazis can’t allow that.  
  
Jason mentally curses the Luftwaffe pilot who dropped the bomb as they reach the hotel. The stirrup pumps are small and don’t hold a lot of water, but it’s better than nothing.  
  
They get the pump going and spray the hose into the fire, the water blasting at the hot flames, struggling to cool them. A beam falls as the fire licks at what is left of the ceiling, and Jason prays fervently that everyone got out okay, even though there are no signs of fleeing guests. He wants to believe the guests scrambled out in the time it took him and Percy to get to the hotel. He _needs_ to believe it. The alternative is too awful.  
  
But the alternative is the truth.  
  
There is movement in the rubble, just as the Auxiliary Fire Service arrives. He can’t help himself – he drops his hose and pump and rushes forward. He yanks his sweater over his nose and mouth, and kicks aside the rubble. Luckily the person isn’t buried deep, and he’s able to reach them.  
  
It's a little girl, probably no older than five. She’s barely conscious, but as Jason frees her, the coughs begin – loud, hacking coughs, as if she’s trying to vomit up a lung. He scoops her up in his arms. Not too far away, Percy is helping hotel habitants out. The staircase and lift has been destroyed so people have to hang from the edge of the second floor and trust that Percy won’t drop them as he lowers them to the ground.  
  
A low rumble thrums through the air, and the hair on the back of Jason’s neck seems to stand up. His gut clenches, and he hollers, “GET OUT! THEY’RE COMING BACK! THEY’RE MAKING ANOTHER PASS!”  
  
“There’s still more people upstairs!” shrieks a lady who Percy has just helped down.  
  
“My sister!” screams a young man, even as the firefighters rush them out.  
  
And in that moment, Jason realizes that no one has claimed the little girl he’s holding. Which means her parents are still upstairs –   
  
“I see people, they’re coming – “ Percy cries as he glances back at the destroyed second floor –   
  
He's shoved out by a firefighter, and the motley group stumbles out onto the street. They’re yanked into the lobby of an apartment building across the street –   
  
The bomb drops on the hotel, and the windows of their lobby shatter from the explosion, sending shards of glass at them even as they duck behind the reception desk and inside the open lift. And Jason can hear the screams from the people inside the hotel – horrible, terrified screams that he knows will haunt him for the rest of his life. Tears stream down his face as he cradles the little girl in his arms, knowing in that moment that he’s all she has.  
  
There is no saving the hotel. It’s been decimated. Jason thinks he can see burned body parts lying among the ruins, and he looks away as the bile rises in his throat. He’s got a strong stomach, but this is a different monster altogether. All those people…they were so close to rescue, so close to surviving. And they were wiped out in less than a second. The push of a button. That was all it took for them to die. A push of a button.  
  
Percy’s face is filthy, but his own tears streak through the grime. He’s shaking, rubbing his arms as though he’s cold. Jason tightens his grip on the little girl. He knows he’s going to have to pass her over to the emergency services soon. She’s probably badly hurt, though he can’t feel any broken bones. She’s barely conscious but she’s breathing at least. He prays she’s all right, that she’ll survive, that she won’t remember the bombs that took her parents from her.   
  
“I hate this war,” Percy breathes out, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I fucking hate this war. I can’t – I don’t – “  
  
Jason nods. He gets it. He understands. They’ve bombed German towns, and they don’t always think about the civilians who were hurt or killed, whose lives they destroyed in a split second. But their aim is always for a Nazi landmark, for something that will hurt the Third Reich, rock their powerhouse. They’re never trying to kill innocent civilians, even if so many of those people stand behind their Fuehrer. But the Nazis, the Luftwaffe pilots…a hotel. They bombed a goddamn hotel, one that held almost no purpose whatsoever. Maybe someone important to Britain was staying there. It’s the only reason Jason can think of for a hotel to be bombed. But it doesn’t matter. Dozens of bombs have dropped on innocent, unsuspecting buildings, killing innocent, unsuspecting people.  
  
One thing is for certain: This needs to stop. This war must come to an end, and the Allies must win.  
  
Innocent lives should never be sacrificed. Never.  
  
The little girl’s name turns out to be Maura. She’s four years old and she was staying at the hotel with her parents while her father tried to find work. They did not get out. She only survived because her mother pushed her over the edge of the broken floor and she landed in the rubble. As suspected, she is injured, but it’s mostly burns and bruises. No broken bones to speak of.  
  
Jason is assured that a billet will be found for Maura, somewhere out in the English countryside where it’s safe for the moment if her parents’ family can’t be found, but he can’t help but worry about her. She’s so young and she’s already been orphaned. He doesn’t want to let her go.  
  
She clings to him before she’s gently pried away by an emergency services worker. Jason doesn’t cry again, not until he and Percy are given the go-ahead to leave as dawn cracks through the smoke.  
  
They make their way home, exhausted and sore and filthy, but neither of them feels like going to bed.  
  
Instead, they sit down at their kitchen table and cry. They cry for the lives lost, for the lives they couldn’t save. They cry for the families and friends of the people who died tonight. They cry for Maura, alone and parentless and about to be shipped off to an unfamiliar place. They cry for the victims of the war, and for the pain they’ve caused their families and the girls they love.   
  
There’s nothing else for them to do, because what’s done is done and last night was last night, and today is today. They need to move on, push forward, keep their chins up. But Jason just wants to curl up under his blankets and sleep until the war is over. He’s so damn tired of the violence and the bloodshed, of the fear and the anger.   
  
Eventually they pick themselves up from their crying jag. Tea and breakfast is made. Neither of them say much. But once they’ve washed dishes, Percy reaches out and pulls Jason into a hug. Jason hugs him back, nearly clinging to him. Once again, Percy is the only one who truly understands what he’s gone through, and he’s the only one who knows what Percy has experienced. The world is horrible and cruel and dark. But at least they have each other. And that is the most important thing in that moment.

* * *

_Monday_ …  
  
When Monday morning rolls around, Percy can barely sit still. He’s still recovering from Saturday night’s bombing, but he’s working on getting himself together. And he’s got something else to look forward to – Annabeth is coming down to London for the evening.  
  
Percy goes through the motions, dragging himself to his job at the Air Ministry. Jason joins him, and the two power through the work day. As 5-o-clock rolls around, they leave the building and go their separate ways – Jason back to the flat, and Percy to Euston Station to meet Annabeth.  
  
Annabeth’s train is due in at 5:45, and Percy checks his watch every couple minutes in the cab he’s taking to the station. When he emerges, his watch reads 5:40. He reaches the platform her train is due in just seconds before it blasts into the station.  
  
The passengers disembark, and after a few minutes Percy spots Annabeth, handbag slung over her arm and her blonde waves pinned back. She looks around and as her gaze alights on him, a wide smile breaks out across her face. She rushes towards him, and he pulls her to him, holding her tightly.  
  
Everything’s all right. Everything’s fine. Annabeth’s here.  
  
She leans back and tilts her face up towards his. He smiles widely, before leaning down and kissing her. She clings to him, and he pulls her even closer.  
  
A train whistle sounds in the distance, and they break apart.  
  
Percy hails a cab, and they climb into the backseat. Percy asks the cabbie to take them to a restaurant a few streets over from his and Jason’s flat.  
  
Annabeth beams. “A restaurant? As in, real food?”  
  
Percy chuckles. “Yes, as in, real food.”  
  
“It’s awfully expensive,” she points out.  
  
He shrugs. “I make decent money, and it’s not like there are a lot of luxuries right now I can blow my money on. I’d much rather spend it on a lovely evening with you, anyway.”  
  
Annabeth’s cheeks flush a light pink, and she settles in next to him, her head resting against his shoulder. He slips an arm around her and she snuggles in closer.  
  
God, he wishes they could stay like that forever.  
  
The restaurant he’s chosen isn’t particularly fancy, but the food is delicious and the service quick and accommodating. When they reach the place, they’re quickly seated and menus are brought out to them. They order a bottle of wine, along with soup and salad, before putting in for their entrees.  
  
“How’ve you been since Friday?” Annabeth asks as she carefully lifts her spoon to her lips and takes a sip of her soup.  
  
Percy hesitates. He’s not sure if she’s asking after him in general or if she’s wondering if he’s thought of her at all. After a moment, he says, “Saturday night was eventful. Jason and I were on firewatching duty and a bomb dropped on the Regent Hotel. We were able to get a few people out, but a second bomb fell and…we couldn’t save the others inside. We weren’t fast enough. We tried – we tried so damn hard. But it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. So many people were left inside…at least two dozen, but probably more. The hotel was in one piece, and then suddenly it wasn’t – suddenly it was destroyed. And there was nothing we could do.”  
  
Annabeth’s spoon clatters against her soup bowl. “God, I’m so sorry, Perce,” she says, reaching across the table for his hand. Her fingers lace with his, and he tries for a smile. It’s hard though, when he can still hear the echoes of the dying’s screams as the bomb ripped the building apart. He’s sure that memory will haunt him forever.  
  
“Thanks,” he manages to get out. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you all that. It’s just – it’s been weighing on both Jason and me since it happened.”  
  
“Of course it has. It’s a horrible thing to have happened. I can’t even imagine – “ She shakes her head, before pausing and looking straight at him. “This is why we do this, isn’t it? Why we fight. To try to save lives. It’s not just about the country – it’s about the _people_. We’re trying not to lose everything.”  
  
Percy nods miserably.  
  
“And this is why you’re going to fly again,” Annabeth says, voice heavy. “So you can try to keep this from happening to anyone else.”  
  
“That’s exactly why.”  
  
“I get it. I do. And…you have to do what you think is right. I’ll support you no matter what. Even if I’ll always wish that you’d chosen a nice, safe desk job.”  
  
He lifts her hand to his lips. “Thank you,” he whispers. “Thank you for supporting me. The RAF – being able to fight the Nazis – I can’t think of anything I’d rather do to be honest.”  
  
“I know. Believe me, Perce, I know. Piper and I are doing what we can, and sometimes we feel like we’re doing a lot, but for the most part we just feel so damn helpless.” She stares down at her soup. “God, I hate being a woman sometimes. We’re not taken seriously. Our shift leader treats us both like we’re stupid. I wish – “ She shakes her head and looks up at Percy. “I wish I could tell you what happened Friday night – well, early Saturday morning. Piper figured something out and I’m so damn proud of her. But I can’t – bloody – say what happened, because I’ve been forbidden to talk about my whole job. I can’t even tell you where it’s at.”  
  
The frustration is evident in her voice, and Percy understands it. He wishes Annabeth could tell him about her job as well. He’s sure he’d be proud of her no matter what. But as he looks at her and thinks about what she’s just said, he realizes that he does know what her job is.  
  
He's heard whispers about a codebreaking place called The Park in Buckinghamshire, about an hour-ish north of London. It explains why Annabeth and Piper can catch a train down to London so easily. It explains why Piper is able to “figure something out”. It explains the different shifts. It explains everything.  
  
Their steak and potatoes arrive, and they dig in eagerly.  
  
Afterwards, Percy treats them to a picture at the cinema, something they both thoroughly enjoy.  
  
Once it’s over, they walk the few streets back to the flat. It’s late, and Jason has already gone to bed, no doubt in anticipation of his evening with Piper tomorrow.  
  
Once they’re in Percy’s room, he turns to Annabeth. “Are you working at The Park?”  
  
Annabeth’s mouth falls open, and his stomach twists. He knows the answer.

* * *

“Are you working at The Park?”  
  
Annabeth’s jaw drops. She wants to ask him how he figured it out, how he knows, but she can’t. She replays their conversations throughout the night in her head. And with a stomach jerk, she realizes she gave it away at dinner, when she mentioned Piper “figuring something out”. Damn it. So much for keeping her job a secret.  
  
“You are, aren’t you?” Percy confirms.  
  
Annabeth clamps her mouth shut. She doesn’t want to lie to Percy, but she also doesn’t want to break the code of confidentiality this whole war has instilled in them.  
  
“I thought so.” Percy sits down on the bed. “Of course you are. It’s codebreaking. I bet you’re magnificent at it. You’re so damn smart…” He shakes his head. “If your shift leader doesn’t see how valuable you and Piper are to the cause, then he’s a fucking idiot.”  
  
Annabeth smiles a little bit. Leave it to Percy to make her feel better, even after she’s basically just given away national secrets. “You can’t say anything about this.”  
  
“I’m not going to go blab it all over London,” he says gently. “Obviously I’m not supposed to know, or else you would have told me. But I get it. No one can say anything, even if their job is the most boring thing in the world.”  
  
“That’s true,” she acknowledges. “But at least you can tell me where you’re working.”  
  
He shrugs. “I’m not holding national secrets or military intelligence. What you’re doing – it’s on a whole new level.” The look he levels at her is overflowing with respect and admiration, and she finds herself melting into a puddle of jelly. “And I thought flying in the RAF was amazing. This…codebreaking…that’s incredible. I’m so fucking proud of you, Annabeth.”  
  
She can’t help herself. She launches herself at him, fists clenching at the front of his shirt as she smashes her mouth against his. It’s not exactly the most romantic of kisses, but it’s hot and needy and overflowing with lust and love and desire.  
  
She shoves him on his back, straddling his hips as she peppers little kisses along his jawline and down his neck, feeling the scratch of his stubble against her face. She’ll probably have stubble-burn tomorrow but honestly, she doesn’t give a damn. She wants the whole world to know that Percy is _hers_.  
  
She attaches her lips to his neck, sucking hard, and he lets out a tiny whimper, squirming under her. Yeah, she’s going to enjoy this.   
  
“Fuck – Annabeth – “  
  
“Louder,” she orders, rolling her hips against his. “Say my name _louder_.”  
  
He’s more than happy to oblige.  
  
She can feel his arousal pressing against her thigh, and his breath is coming out a bit sharper. She can feel heat pooling in her lower abdomen, begging to be released. She needs him. She wants him. He’s hers. That’s all there is to it. Percy Jackson is _hers_.  
  
She has his shirt and trousers off in a matter of seconds. Her dress is unbuttoned quickly, and she chucks it to the side. Her slip follows suit, leaving her in just her undergarments.  
  
Percy’s gaze rakes over her, and heat flashes through her. She can feel just how much he’s enjoying the view.  
  
A shrill siren pierces the air, and they both stiffen.  
  
They’re coming.  
  
Their gazes lock, and Percy reaches up and kisses her hard. His message is clear – they’re not going to let the fucking Jerries ruin this for them.  
  
His shorts are shoved down his legs, and her bra and panties follow, just as the first bomb drops.   
  
Percy flips her onto her back, and inches down her body. He settles between her thighs and hooks her legs over his shoulders before peering up at her, his green eyes meeting her gray ones.  
  
His tongue flicks out, and she gasps as she feels it hot and wet and firm against her clit. Her hips shudder, and her fingers tangle in his messy hair.  
  
His tongue moves over her again, and again, until he finally attaches his mouth to her. She writhes as he sucks on her clit, and she gasps loudly as he presses a finger against her entrance.  
  
It isn’t long before she’s coming undone. His name rolls off her lips and her back arches, and all she can think of is Percy, Percy, Percy – and then a bomb drops and the windows blow in.  
  
Annabeth hears shouts and swearing, and then she and Percy are scrambling. She’s throwing on what garments she can get to – her panties and his jumper, while he’s yanking on trousers and an undershirt. Their feet are stuffed in their shoes and they’re running from the room, just as Jason emerges, tousle-haired and half-asleep.  
  
“Did a bomb drop on us?” he asks blearily. How he’s managed to sleep through the bombing is beyond Annabeth, but she supposes that if you go through it night after night, eventually you must become at least somewhat desensitized.  
  
“I think a bomb fell on a nearby building. The windows facing the street blew in,” Percy says, examining the shattered kitchen window, which faces the same way as his bedroom.  
  
It occurs to Annabeth just how _loud_ the last bomb was. It came so close to flattening the building. It was pure luck that it didn’t.  
  
Pure luck.  
  
Jason blinks himself awake, and slowly takes in their half-dressed appearance. He smirks just a bit. “I see you two were distracting yourselves during the bombing.”  
  
Annabeth and Percy both flush, but neither one can come up with a snarky retort. Besides, Annabeth suspects that Jason and Piper will be up to something similar tomorrow night.  
  
Jason ends up wandering down to the street to survey the damage, leaving Annabeth and Percy alone again.  
  
Annabeth can still hear the low hum of the Luftwaffes, and explosions echo through the night. What remains of the splintered glass in the kitchen window crashes to the floor. Screams and cries split the night like a knife.  
  
“We should go up to the roof, see what got hit,” Annabeth suggests, tugging at Percy’s jumper. It hits mid-thigh and it’s not at all proper attire, but she doesn’t give a damn. She doesn’t see why she should.  
  
Percy nods, and they carefully, gingerly, crawl through the kitchen window and hoist themselves up onto the roof.  
  
London is on fire.  
  
At least, that’s Annabeth’s first, horrible impression. Hot orange flames sweep through buildings, and the next street over is completely caved in, automobiles and buses buried under rubble and just barely peeking out from among the chasm. The houses and flats lining the road are no more. What isn’t on fire has been blown apart. Annabeth spots a lone front door jammed through the windshield of a Rolls Royce.  
  
And there are bodies. The emergency services are already working to rescue those trapped among the destruction, but for most it’s far too late. Annabeth knows this is why they’re supposed to be hiding out in bomb shelters or in the underground stations. She also knows that Percy and Jason spend a few nights a week on firewatching duty, so it’s not as if they’re going to be able to huddle up all safe and cozy in a shelter. They want to be out and helping. They want to be fighting the goddamn Nazis.  
  
When she looks at Percy, she sees his face has drained of all color. His green eyes stand out huge and haunted against his stark-white cheeks. She can only imagine what he’s thinking right now. She flashes back to his confession about Saturday night, when he and Jason tried and failed to rescue the guests at the Regent Hotel. She thinks of the horrors he’s witnessed, experienced, fought through. She prays he’s not reliving them.  
  
She reaches out and finds his hand. It’s cold and clammy against hers, but she doesn’t flinch away. She strokes her thumb down the back of his hand and moves closer, pushing her side into his.  
  
“We should go,” Percy finally mumbles. “Back inside.”  
  
Annabeth nods her agreement, and they cautiously slide back through the broken window. Percy grips Annabeth’s hips as she slips back into the kitchen, steadying her as her feet hit the ground. Her hands automatically brace against his chest, and one of his hands drifts down, to the back of her bare thigh.  
  
“We never did finish what we started,” she points out, voice low and suggestive. Perhaps it’s awful to be thinking about sex when lives were just snuffed out with the press of a button, but she’s alive. They’re both alive. That seems like something to celebrate right now. Besides, in the morning she’ll be taking the train back to Bletchley, and she’s not sure if she’ll be able to make it back up to London on her next day off. She wants to give Percy something to think about until they see each other again.  
  
“No, we didn’t,” Percy agrees, and she stands on her tip toes, crushing her lips to his. His hand slides up her thigh and under the jumper, cupping her ass. She pushes her hips into his, and the next thing she knows, he’s lifting her up like she weighs absolutely nothing, and carrying her back to his room. The door is kicked shut behind them, and then they’re tumbling down onto the bed in a tangle of limbs.  
  
He’s got the jumper off in a matter of seconds, and she nearly rips off the short sleeved undershirt he’d pulled on ten minutes before. His trousers follow, as does her panties, and she’s got him on his back, knees straddling his hips. She’s still slick from before, and she glides over him as she rocks her hips. He’s moaning under her, hips moving against hers. And then she’s shimmying down his legs, between his thighs, and her hand wraps around his length. She strokes him, keeping her pace slow and leisurely. She wants to enjoy this and she wants him to savor it. In the distance, the bombing is growing faint, like a thunder storm rolling off into the hills. The post-bombing sounds are still piercing the night air, louder than usual due to the broken window, but Annabeth is determined to put the misery of the night out of both their minds.  
  
With a deep breath, she wraps her lips around him. Percy gasps and his hips jerk. “ _Fuck_!” seems to be the only word he can get out at the moment, and Annabeth is perfectly fine with that. She bobs her head, flicking her tongue against his shaft, sucking on the head, fondling his balls. Swear words spew from his mouth, and his fingers tangle in her hair as his hips buck.  
  
And then he’s falling apart under her, writhing and moaning and whining and it’s her name on his lips.  
  
It’s oh-so satisfying.  
  
She pulls back, licking the evidence off her lips.  
  
Percy looks absolutely mind-blown, and the warmth of satisfaction and pride blooms in her chest. _She_ did that. All her.  
  
Before he can say anything else, there is a knock on the bedroom door.  
  
“They’ve mostly got the fires out, but the streets are an even worse mess than usual,” Jason calls through the door. “It’s going to be a real job, getting that all cleaned up.”  
  
“Are they still digging bodies out?” Percy calls back as he reaches for his shorts.  
  
“I believe so. When the street collapsed – it doesn’t look good.” Jason’s voice cracks. “It’s worse than the hotel.”  
  
“Damn it,” Percy mumbles. It’s a mild swear, but it carries so much weight. It’s all he seems to be able to force out.  
  
“I know,” Jason almost whispers. “I know.”  
  
Since it doesn’t look like they’re going to be getting much sleep, at least not for a couple hours, Annabeth rolls off the bed and once more dons her panties and the jumper. She doesn’t bother with shoes or stockings. Jason’s already seen her like this, so it’s not like it matters if he witnesses her walking around the flat half-naked a second time. Besides, he’s in love with her best friend.  
  
While Percy dresses, Annabeth pads out to the kitchen to put the kettle on and brew them all a pot of tea. She’d love to have some biscuits to add to the midnight tea, but that’s a fever dream at this point.  
  
Jason leans against the table as he watches Annabeth light the stove. A cigarette dangles between his lips, but it’s unlit. She wonders if he forgot to light it in the furor of the night.  
  
“Is Piper still planning on coming down to London tomorrow?” Jason asks Annabeth.  
  
“I believe so. Do you need a light for that?”  
  
“What? Oh – goddamn it.” He strikes a match and expertly lights his cigarette. She watches as he blows out smoke rings through the broken window. She doesn’t smoke much, doesn’t care for the smell, but she’s suddenly craving a cigarette herself. “The bombings feel as though they’re getting worse. Some nights aren’t as awful as others, but the last few nights – “ He shakes his head, and she knows he’s thinking about Saturday night.  
  
“You don’t want Piper coming down to London,” Annabeth surmises. It doesn’t surprise her. She knows she’s going to be getting that speech from Percy here shortly. But it still makes her stomach drop. Surely it should be hers and Piper’s choice if they want to spend their nights with their boyfriends, even if it is in a war-torn city. “You think she’s safer where we work.”  
  
“Isn’t she?” Jason asks, taking a chug of his cigarette.   
  
Annabeth shrugs. “We haven’t been bombed yet. That doesn’t mean we won’t be. We’re a government ministry after all. It’s only a matter of times before the Jerries get wind of us. And is anyone really safe anymore? I mean, honestly? You hear of all sorts of awful crimes happening all over Britain. People have lost their damn minds, Jason.”   
  
She’s speaking louder than is necessary, but this is for Percy’s benefit. He still hasn’t come out of the bedroom, but the door is open and she can hear him moving around. She wants him to hear the points she’s making. She needs him to remember who she is, that she’s Annabeth Chase, the girl who got a job with a codebreaking ministry and worked through her heartbreak after her potential boyfriend was shot down over Germany. She lived through the reality that he was most likely dead. She lived through the nightmare, the horror, the earth-shattering pain of losing him, even if it was just a temporary hell. She’s got him now, but she didn’t a few months ago. A few months ago she was told she’d most likely never see him again and she better start moving on.  
  
“But you’re sheltered where you are,” Jason protests. “You have a nice billet, right? No one is bombing you yet. And hopefully it’ll stay that way.”  
  
Annabeth wonders if he even heard a damn word she just said. “No one is safe anywhere, Jason!” she nearly screams. “And if you decide you don’t want Piper to come down to London…that’s not your decision. She’s in love with you and she misses you and you need to quit being the conquering hero for one fucking moment. We all know you’re most likely going to be flying again in a few weeks, even if you and Piper haven’t entirely accepted it. You and Percy will be flying missions over Germany again, and Piper and I will still be here, _staying safe_.” She spits the last two words out like they leave a bad taste in her mouth. She’s suddenly enraged, fury boiling through her blood like lava. As always, it’s the men who get to make the decisions. They get to decide if the girl stays safe or not. They get to decide who comes down to London. They get to go save the world while she and Piper are stuck on the ground, trying to decipher German notes over cups of bitter tea. They don’t have to worry about her and Piper. But she and Piper will always have to worry about them. And it’s just. Not. Fair.  
  
Hot tears sting her eyes, and she blinks them away. Her fingers are clenched into tight fists, and she can feel her nails digging into the soft skin of her palms.  
  
The kettle emits a sharp whistling sound as it boils, and Annabeth whips it off the stove, just as Percy finally makes an appearance in the kitchen entryway.  
  
Annabeth busies herself with fixing cups of tea, because obviously that’s all she’s good for. She doesn’t get to save the world. She doesn’t even get to save her boyfriend. Hell, she probably won’t even get to decide if she sees him later this week. These are decisions for _the_ _men_.  
  
Fuck, she hates that.  
  
“You’re right,” Percy says from his place in the doorway. “Of course you are. But can you blame Jason for being scared? Hell, I don’t want you staying with me in London either. Not after tonight. We came incredibly close to dying tonight. That bomb – it decimated an entire street. We were incredibly lucky we didn’t get any worse damage.” He nods to the broken window, where Jason is now stubbing out his cigarette.  
  
“I’m aware of that,” Annabeth replies through clenched teeth. She passes the men their respective cups of tea and keeps hers cradled in her hands. The warmth seeping through the cup eases the tension in her fingers. “I’m aware we should all be in a damn bomb shelter. But we’re not, because you two are on firewatching duty and the rest of the time – I don’t know. Maybe it’s because you two aren’t actually civilians. Maybe you’re just not scared of being bombed out the way everyone else is. Whatever the reason is, it’s not important. As long as you two are here in London, that’s where Piper and I will be as much as possible. You don’t understand what it was like, waiting to hear if you were alive or dead, but certain that you had been killed. You don’t get to take this away from us. That’s not your right.”  
  
“Maybe we could meet somewhere else,” Percy suggests weakly.  
  
Annabeth turns away from him. She understands his and Jason’s argument. But she really doesn’t care. As long as Percy is here in London, essentially going out of his way to risk his life, that’s where she wants to be, too. And maybe it’s selfish, but she feels as though she’s already sacrificed so much for the war. She doesn’t want what time she has left with Percy to be taken away from her.  
  
“Is that really such a bad idea?” Percy asks quietly. He’s come up behind her now, his hand sliding through her curls. “Meeting somewhere in the country? Maybe we could even come to your billet?”  
  
“That’d be too risky,” Annabeth mumbles. “I don’t think anyone at work would like that.”  
  
“But there must be a town your train passes through, one where we could meet.”  
  
Annabeth turns to face him. His fingers are wrenched out of her hair. “Where would we stay?” she demands. “A hotel? That’d get awfully expensive.”  
  
“London is so dangerous – “  
  
“So is every other place in this country. If you’re so damn scared, though, I can come in on the afternoon train and leave on an evening one, if they’re running. That way I’m out of the way before the bombing begins.” Her voice is bitter and sad, but she knows in that moment it’s the only thing that might possibly work.  
  
“It’s a long train ride for just a couple hours,” Percy says softly.  
  
“I’d be willing to do it for five minutes with you.” Her fingers are tangled in his shirt, pulling him against her. Jason slips out of the room and loudly shuts his door, letting them know he’s out of the way for the time being. “And I know Piper would be willing to do it for Jason.”  
  
“Perhaps I can switch my days off,” Percy mutters, thinking aloud. “Then you could come down to London in the morning.”  
  
“Not going to happen!” Jason hollers through his door. “You know we’re stuck with our off-days the way they are!”  
  
Percy glares at the closed door. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to eavesdrop?”  
  
“Of course. That doesn’t mean I listened.”  
  
Annabeth tugs on Percy’s shirt to get his attention. “Are you and Jason going to start hiding out in bomb shelters or in the underground?”  
  
A flicker of guilt crosses Percy’s face. She knows the answer. He won’t. He won’t protect himself, because that’s not what he does. Jason’s immediate response to the bombing was to go see what he could do to help. And if Annabeth hadn’t been there, Percy would have joined him. It’s just what they do. They’ll always be trying to save the world at the risk of their own lives.  
  
“That’s what I thought,” she says softly. “Well, you have to do what you have to do. But Piper and I do, too. So Piper will be spending tomorrow night with you two. Good luck trying to talk her out of it,” she adds in a raised voice to Jason. “You’re going to need it if you want to walk away in one piece.”  
  
“I’m trying not to think about it,” is Jason’s reluctant reply.  
  
A smirk crosses Annabeth’s face, just for a moment. Just for a moment everything’s okay. But as she looks up into Percy’s eyes, she’s dragged right back down to reality. Nothing is okay. Nothing will ever be okay again, as long as this war rages on. And there isn’t a damn thing she can do about it.

* * *

There is something about working with a friend that makes a job easier. Piper realized this years ago when she was attending the Merrington Academy for Girls. It’s where she met Annabeth and, through Annabeth, Jason and Percy. Annabeth was the first real friend she’d ever had, and she noticed how much more fun anything was with Annabeth at her side. And when Jason and Percy would spend time with them on their holidays or when they would sneak out of their nearby school on their free days, everything became even better.  
  
Piper is reflecting on this on Monday night as she sits by herself at her desk. Annabeth is in London with Percy and Jason, and she’s the only girl on shift tonight. The translations tonight are boring as hell, and Piper is sure their uppity shift lead is double checking that nothing interesting finds its way into her in-basket. Fuck, she hates that pretentious prick.  
  
In any case, this might be slightly more tolerable if Annabeth were here. At least she’d have someone to crack quiet jokes with.  
  
Piper has a fresh cup of tea sitting in front of her as she stares down at the piece of paper in front of her. It's not much, just a basic translation with plans to bring supplies into Paris. She thinks of her mother, whom she hasn’t heard from in a few months. She suspects her mother might have gotten trapped in Paris, though no doubt she’s living the high life, on the arm of a German officer. After all, Aphrodite is on no one’s side but her own.  
  
The idea makes Piper’s stomach twist, and she feels bile rising in her throat. She hastily gulps her tea. It would just figure if her mother is bedding a Nazi officer while she’s actively working to tear them down. She wonders if Aphrodite is living comfortably at the Hotel Ritz, alongside with Coco Chanel, another lover of a German officer. Or so rumor goes, anyway.  
  
“The goddamn loyalty,” Piper mutters darkly to herself. “Loyal to no one but themselves.” But she does worry about her mother, and makes a mental note to ask Jason and Percy to see if they can find a hint of what has happened to her.  
  
She chews on her thumbnail before yanking it out of her mouth. It’s a bad habit, one that she thought she’d cured herself of years ago. But her nerves are a tangled web and she can feel herself searching futilely for comfort.  
  
“Focus, McLean,” she hisses to herself. “You have a job to do.”  
  
She scribbles out the translation and shoves it into her out-basket, before grabbing the next message. It’s a simple phrase in German, but one she’s not familiar with: “108 _Der Phönix singt_.” 108 _The phoenix sings_. What? The fuck does that mean? She racks her brain, trying to come up with a codeword or name for phoenix, but she’s got nothing. This is clearly a code phrase, but it makes no sense to her.  
  
She tries letter shifting. She tries replacing the letters with numbers. She tries replacing the numbers with letters. Nothing. She’s got nothing.  
  
She finally signals the shift lead. John, she remembers his name is. John Ashburn.  
  
He slopes over to her, looking none too happy that he’s being called over. “What is it, Miss McLean?” His accent sounds so clipped and hoity-toity, his voice huffy and irritated. Great. This is already making her feel better.  
  
“Are you familiar with this phrase or these numbers?” she asks him, showing him the message.  
  
He frowns. “No…no, I can’t say that I am. One-oh-eight the phoenix sings…That makes no sense.”  
  
“That’s what I thought. But it must mean something. It must be code.”  
  
“Clearly,” he says sharply. “Miss McLean, if you are uncapable of coming up with a reasonable translation – “  
  
“I’m asking for your help,” she retorts. “I’m not familiar with all the codes, nor can you expect me to be. But perhaps some of the others have come across this phrase. Could you pass this around and see if they know what it might be?”  
  
Ashburn stares at her for a moment. It’s clear he’s not used to being spoken to in the cold tone she’s using. For a moment she thinks he’s going to refuse her request, but then he plucks the paper from her fingers with an air of indignation. “I’ll see what I can come up with,” he says coolly, before swishing off.  
  
“Good riddance,” Piper mutters, before turning back to the next message.  
  
Ashburn returns an hour later. “It’s been suggested,” he begins stonily, “that _the phoenix_ might be a hotel, and one-oh-eight might be the room number.”  
  
Piper leans back in her chair. It makes sense. “Perhaps it’s the meetup spot for a rendezvous,” she suggests. “Do we know of any hotels called The Phoenix in Britain?”  
  
“There is one in London,” Ashburn admits, and Piper’s blood runs cold.  
  
“You think this might be a meeting for the Fifth Columnists?”  
  
“Perhaps. I’ll alert MI5 and see what they want to do. It’s a good lead,” he adds reluctantly. “Groups for Nazi-sympathizers seem to be abundant, yet we can never catch them.”  
  
“I expect MI5 is infiltrating their meetings,” Piper points out. “Plenty happens that we’ll never know about.”  
  
“True. Well, continue on with your work. If you come across any other messages like that one – “  
  
“I’ll let you know,” she assures him.  
  
He nods stoically and then he’s off, leaving her to continue translating messages. By the time 8am rolls around, she’s exhausted and ready for bed. She packs up and bikes back to her billet for a few hours of sleep before she catches a late afternoon train to London. However, she’s barely lied down on her bed when the door to her room swings open and Annabeth walks in, bag over her shoulder.  
  
“Why are boys so damn stupid?” she demands, and Piper mentally says goodbye to a nap.  
  
“Because they’re boys and their brains are smaller than their dicks.”  
  
Annabeth kicks off her heels and slumps down onto her bed. “Percy and Jason don’t want us coming down to London anymore because of the bombing. Their flat was almost hit last night,” she adds by way of explanation. “A street over was decimated.”  
  
Piper bites her lip. She can understand why the boys would be worried, but that doesn’t change anything. “London’s been getting bombed for the last month,” she points out. “And we’ve spent plenty of time in London.”  
  
“They were on firewatching duty on Saturday night and a nearby hotel was bombed. They tried to save the guests, but a second bomb was dropped and most of them died. I think it’s really got Percy and Jason scared.” Annabeth drops her head into her hands. “But the boys aren’t going into bomb shelters. They aren’t hiding in the underground. They’re still in the flat, keeping an eye on the bombings.”  
  
“Then we’ll be with them on our nights off,” Piper says simply.  
  
“That’s what I told them.”  
  
Piper smiles. “Good. They don’t get to make those decisions for us, no matter how much they might want to. I suppose they think they’re being chivalrous, but all they’re being is pigheaded.”  
  
Annabeth smiles a bit as well. “Please say that to Jason. I’ll love you forever if you do.”  
  
Piper laughs. “Oh, I’m sure the subject will come up. Now, you look like hell, and I feel like hell. Let’s try to get a few hours of sleep, okay?”  
  
“Fine, fine.”  
  
Annabeth changes into her nightgown, and Piper snuggles into her bed. Before she can fully relax, however, Annabeth adds, “Oh, by the way…I blew Percy.”  
  
“Oh my god, my ears are bleeding!”

* * *

It's nearly 6pm by the time Piper’s train rolls into Euston Station. She disembarks among the crowd of people, and stands on her tiptoes, trying to spot Jason. It takes her a moment, but she finally does.  
  
She smiles, and shoves and wiggles her way through the crowd, keeping one gloved hand on her hat. Jason’s face splits into a wide smile as she approaches, and he wraps his arms around her, pulling her into a hug. She leans into him, breathing in his scent and relaxing against the hard comfort of his body.  
  
“I know you don’t really want me here,” she says, still pressing against him.  
  
“It’s the bombings, love. It’s not you.”  
  
“As long as you and Percy are trying to keep an eye on the bombings, Annabeth and I will be here too. You two don’t have a choice. We decided.”  
  
Jason groans and he pulls back. “My god, you two are stubborn.”  
  
“You knew this already, Mr. Grace. Now, what do you have planned for this evening?”  
  
He takes her out to dinner at a rather classy restaurant, and then they walk through a nearby park, enjoying the early autumn air, hand in hand. All in all it’s a very pleasant evening, especially since their conversation steers clear of any stressful or tense subjects. They avoid asking the other about work, and Jason doesn’t volunteer any information about the bombings. Instead they chat about a film they saw recently, about the latest rumors about Tristan McLean and his starlet lover, and about Jason’s father’s latest acquisitions.  
  
It's not until they’re nearly back to the flat when Jason adds, “Oh, by the way…the kitchen window got blown out last night by the bombing.”  
  
Piper pauses and looks up at him. “That seems rather inconvenient.”  
  
“Percy and I got it all boarded it up. There shouldn’t be any light coming out of it. Apparently Percy’s bedroom window got shattered as well. Seemed to scare the crap out of him and Annabeth.”  
  
Thinking about Annabeth’s confession from that morning, Piper can’t fight back a smirk. “That’s even more inconvenient.”  
  
Jason shrugs. “I’m sure Percy has it boarded up now. And I doubt it inconvenienced them too terribly much.”  
  
“No, I don’t suppose it did.”  
  
They reach his flat building, and they make their way up. Percy is out, on firewatching duty, so she and Jason have the flat to themselves.  
  
“I’ve got a request for you,” she says once they’re seated on the sofa with cups of tea. “I haven’t heard from my mother in a few months, and I’m worried. The last letter I got from her was postmarked in Paris.”  
  
“You think she got trapped?” Jason asks.  
  
“I think it’s more likely she’s taken up with a German officer, but if you want to be optimistic about it then yes, I think she got trapped.”  
  
Jason’s lips twitch. “You really think she’d shack up with a Nazi?”  
  
“I’m positive she would. Obviously I hope she hasn’t, but…” Piper shrugs helplessly. “And I suppose if she has then I should be glad she’s alive at least. But given what we’re all fighting against…”  
  
“Yeah, I get it. So, what do you need me to do?”  
  
“Can you just ask around at your ministry? Maybe there’s someone who knows something.”  
  
“I doubt anyone does at my ministry,” Jason says gently, “but I’ll see what I can do.”  
  
“That’s all I can ask.”  
  
He nods. “Just don’t get your hopes up, okay? What you’re asking…it’s more a question for MI5 or MI6.”  
  
Piper knows this. But the problem is, she’s not familiar with anyone who works for those departments. So where does that leave her?  
  
She doesn’t want to think about it. She doesn’t want to think about it at all. And so she leans forward and kisses him. He tastes like the wine they had with dinner and the chocolate torte they had for dessert. A touch sour but mostly sweet. She presses closer, and she thinks she can feel his heart beating against her chest, a frantic rhythm that’s nearly a perfect match for her own. As his tongue sweeps through her mouth and his teeth tug at her bottom lip, she wishes that this moment could last forever and ever.  
  
But perfect moments never do. They just become nostalgic memories from a better time.  
  
But she wants something tangible she can hold onto, something she can grasp at late at night when she’s at work and lonely. She wants Jason. All of him. Forever and ever.  
  
She knows the bombing will start any minute. She strains her ears for the low thrum of the Luftwaffes, but can’t hear anything of the sort. For once London feels completely silent. It’s almost eerie.  
  
Piper swings a leg over Jason’s hip so that she’s straddling him. He grips her waist, his fingers digging against her skirt, and his lips find her neck. She gasps as he undoes the top buttons of her blouse, his mouth drifting down to the newly exposed skin. She can feel him mapping out her clavicle with his tongue, his lips tracing the bony section between her breasts, before attaching to the swell of her cleavage. Her fingers slide into his hair, pulling, as he sucks a bruise into her left breast. Her back arches and the moan she lets out is breathy and high pitched. She can feel him reacting to her, and she shifts her hips so that she’s pressing against him.  
  
She’s in the midst of opening the buttons of his shirt when she hears the telltale rumble of the German aeroplanes and the headachy screech of the air raid sirens.  
  
Jason yanks back. “Fuck.”  
  
“That was the idea,” Piper informs him as she trails her fingers down his bare chest.   
  
He shakes his head. “I need to see what’s happening.”  
  
Suddenly she’s being dumped on the sofa and he’s getting to his feet, working on buttoning his shirt back up.  
  
Her eyes sting with rejection. “You need to see what’s happening?”  
  
“If a bomb takes out this street – “  
  
“It’s not going to do you any good standing on the goddamn roof,” she snaps. “The bombing is about to start, there isn’t a safe place.”  
  
“If I can help – “  
  
She wants to scream her frustration, but she can’t. Because she _knows_. She _understands_. And damn it, if she doesn’t hate it. This is Jason. He’ll always be a martyr and she can’t change that. And so she simply says, “Then let’s go up to the roof and see what’s happening out there.”  
  
Jason balks for a moment at her suggestion, but then holds out his hand to help her up.  
  
Getting up onto the roof isn’t nearly as easy as it was before the windows blew in. With the kitchen window boarded up until they can bomb-proof it, they have to go through Jason’s window, and then clamber up the balcony, where a ladder has been propped up to the roof. They climb up and huddle side-by-side as the bombs begin to drop.  
  
The bombing isn’t quite as bad as it was the night before. But there is still plenty of damage done, and more buildings and streets are left in ruins. Fires break out, but nothing that threatens to engulf the city. But they sit up there on the roof, shouting threats and challenges at the Luftwaffes swooping overhead, until very early in the morning when the only sound that echoes through London are the all-clear sirens.  
  
They retreat to Jason’s room, where they curl up on his bed side by side.  
  
“Are you still coming down on Friday?” Jason asks her, propping himself up on his elbow so he can see her better.  
  
“Yeah,” Piper says. “I plan to.”  
  
“I’m sorry about tonight. I shouldn’t have – the roof – I just feel so damn helpless. I want to be doing something, anything, but instead I’m grounded. It’s so damn frustrating.”  
  
“I know it is,” she assures him. “And I get wanting to do more. I feel that way every damn day. But we only have a couple days a week together – a couple nights a week. I don’t want to lose that to the fucking Jerries.”  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
“Okay. Let’s just start again on Friday.”  
  
“All right,” he agrees, and he wraps his arms around her, pulling her close. She leans into him and closes her eyes. She wonders at what point she’ll accept that she’s fighting a losing battle. With Jason, everything else will always come first. The war. Flying. Saving people. That’s all well and good, but what about her? She needs him too. She needs him and she’s so damn terrified of losing him for real.   
  
_He’s grounded for the time being_ , she tells herself firmly. _There’s a good chance he won’t be cleared to fly for a long time. And he’ll tell me if there’s talking about him flying again. He wouldn’t hide that from me_.  
  
But deep down, she knows he’ll be cleared sooner rather than later. He’s walking just fine. He’s climbing up to the roof with no problem. He’s in excellent shape. He’ll be able to fly and soon, and there isn’t a damn thing she can do about it.  
  
Without a doubt, she’s fighting a losing battle.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 💕


End file.
